Wednesday November 24th, 2010

Still cold out today, but at least the wind took the day off. It's supposed to get back up to around zero in the coming days, which seems more... November'ish to me.

Writing is going slowly today. Update to come.

Update:day twenty-four. Just under 1,000 words to go before the official 'win'. I would be looking forward to that a whole lot more if there wasn't so much story left to tell.

Mine:

"Can you describe the perpetrator for us, ma'am?" the police officer asked, notepad at the ready.

"Of course I can!" The woman looked shocked to be even asked such a question.

"I didn't mean to offend you, ma'am. It's just that many robbery victims are so traumatized by the experience that they have difficulty recalling important details - you know, like height, hair color, that sort of stuff."

"He's five foot nine, one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Brown hair and eyes, walks with a slight limp. Oh, he also has a small scar below his right eye."

"Wow, that's incredible! And you're sure about all this?"

"How could I not be?" she asked, looking at the man as though he might not be completely right in the head. "He is my husband, after all."

7 comments:

There's a lot that rings true in the dialogue you have today, though the last line is a little twee for my tastes -- I'm clearly not as romantic as you! I like the way the scene is clearly laid out through the dialogue, with tiny details added by the characters' actions: it's easy to picture without getting overwhelmed by minutiae.It's cold over here in London too, but we're still on the other side of zero!

The ThiefNo door has ever been an obstacle,The windows open at his gentle touch.The thief is present in this museum,Stealing something small, attractive; not much.

The windows open at his gentle touch,Display cases, alarms silenced, watch himStealing something small, attractive; not muchTo carry out with him, a jewel-thief.

Display cases, alarms silenced. Watch himGhost away, invisible to the guards,To carry out with him a jewel. ThiefTaking his time, confident of his skill.

Ghost away, invisible to the guards,No door has ever been an obstacle.Taking his time, confident of his skill,The thief is present in this museum.

“Sound the alarm!” the man raise his volume against the masked thief that armed with a knife. Some of the employee just stood frozen, too scared to even move an inch. The thief then throws over a couple of empty sandbags towards the counter and demand that they are to make it full if they wanted to live. One of the employees broke out in tears simply refuse to accept the reality while the others were doing what they’re instructed, unwillingly.

“Should we just give in to whatever he wants?” Marley whispers softly into my ears.

“Just give it to him, try to distract him and I’ll find a perfect opportunity to sound the alarm.” I somehow manage to bring the message across to Marley without being seen. My forehead feels a little warm and just started to sweat a little. Nobody wish for this and I just wanted everyone to be safe with minimum damage.

Marley suddenly put on an act and became slutty towards the thief. “Want a piece of me? Then come on over. She reveals part of her skin in the hope to attract him. She wanted to lure him over so that I can sound the alarm. It’s an old trick but with fifty percent chance of succeeding and she just gambled it, knowing that she could be dead any moment.

Petuna jumped off the chaise and wiped the tears from her eyes. She was about to bid the Spring farewell when a huge tremor shook the ground beneath them. The pools were thrown up in the air by the force of the tremors. Petuna dived into the Spring and held on to her for dear life until the tremors subsided.

“What… What..” said Petuna in a daze as she emerged from the Spring. But she did not have to wait for an explanation. A sour memory was slowly washing over her. It involved her mother, the holiday many years ago and the avalanche. That was how it had started and they had not taken notice of the tremors at the time. Intermittent tremors had slowly started to get more frequent and violent until the avalanche had appeared and had eaten everything in its way.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” cried the Spring, “How could they possibly have gotten to it this fast. Oh dear!”

“The Amber Crystal!” cried Petuna.

There was only one explanation for these tremors. The humans must have reached the Crystal Well and stolen the Amber Crystal. It would only be a matter of time before the Land of the Flowing River turned into ice and it would take centuries to break the spell unless its rightful owner claimed the Amber Crystal back. That was her father, the king, and she had to do everything in her power to get it back before it was too late.

I got to thinking in the vein of that idea I seemed to have going in the week before NaNo (October 25th and 27th, I don't have confidence in my linking skills).- - - - - - - - - -She looked up and all around her in disbelief at the towering bookcases. As he led her down the row of books, when they started down a new section she glanced to either side of her: the shelves continued down into the darkness. She couldn't believe all of what was down here, surely they were no longer under the tumbledown theater?

"So all of these are yours?" she asked.

"Heavens, no," he replied. He considered the towering shelves thoughtfully. "A book can never be completely owned by one person. A person merely borrows them, learns from them, and then passes them on to the next reader, or the books wait around for the next eager mind to whom they can pass their knowledge."

"Very deep." She let her fingers glide over the old spines. For her, having grown up in this backwards world, it was so odd, but so magical, to see so many books in one place. "So, could I borrow one?"

"I don't think you're exactly in a position to ask such a thing," he answered coldly, closing the book in his hand with a dusty snap and replacing it, not looking at her. "You break in here, uninvited, and without a particularly convincing reason as to why you're here."

"I told you, I was--"

"I remember perfectly well what you told me, but I have no reason to completely believe you. For all I know you're a scout nosing around for illegal material, and as soon as you're out of here you might be scampering back to report your findings and help the units organize a raid."

"You won't trust a curious soul looking to rediscover something lost to us?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not in the habit of trusting nosy trespassers who could very well be on a government payroll. Do I make myself clear?"

"But--"

"Do I make myself clear?" He'd whipped around suddenly by now, nearly pressing her back into the bookcase, his eyes sparkling dangerously in the dark. She nodded as timidly as she could manage. "Alright then." He gave her a quick look, narrowed his eyes a little, then turned to continue down the row, motioning for her to follow.

She tried not to smirk too widely as she slipped a small leather-bound volume from behind her back into her satchel.

Surely, with all these other tomes, he wouldn't miss just one book.- - - - - - - - - - -Two things: 1) Cripes, I just keep writing really long bits, don't I? Maybe this idea has legs for something longer...2) I wrote part of this on my grandparents' electric typewriter this afternoon. It made me nostalgically happy. ^^

The "Rules"

One: If you do the daily practice please feel free to share it in the comments - the best part of this concept is seeing the different places people go from the same starting point. I do my best to leave some feedback on all comments.

Two: Anyone can write. Everyone should. So write!

Three: This is daily writing practice. Practice. Not daily writing perfection. So let loose and write!

Four: Write for five minutes, an hour, all afternoon, whatever works. Just write!

Five: There are no deadlines. In fact, I love being surprised by a take on a prompt that's a few days old!

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About Me

I'm a 39 year old writer, farmer, and father to two boys living in Osoyoos, BC, Canada.
What do I write? Poetry, short stories, children's books, and I now have first drafts finished for two novels.
Why do I write? Because not writing isn't an option. I get antsy if I get close to the end of a day without having written something.
Daily Writing Practice is my main blog - come have a visit, won't you?